Ye Ole Site of Spirit Quests

karma

Post navigation

Sreejinn noted Jeb’s query with assiduousness and replied, “Every time I come out of hiding and enter into a new civilization … I come in and I take note of the fabric of the times… the collective thinking of the country I’m in and so on…”

“What?” Jeb is thinking. “Is it that he lives in some cave and comes out every now and then?”

Sreejinn suddenly paused his train of thought, and said, “I know what you might be thinking,” as he looked at Jeb with that ‘knowing’ look. “I can’t really read your mind, don’t worry, that wouldn’t be fair. But I can guess at what you are thinking. Yes, I do live in caves at times, to pass the time. Actually I sort of withdraw myself within, like a tortoise pulls his limbs within his shell. I metamorphose into a chrysalis state, and meditate for indefinite lengths of time until I come out again for more adventures in this world composed of lights and shadows reflected on the wall.

“Whenever I enter a new civilization, I always study the history, go to libraries and read everything there, or I go and talk to the people, usually to the common people in bars or parks. Or, I find the intelligentsia in the coffee shops or bookstores, and I extract from them what is in the collective consciousness. I listen in length to how people talk, and often I see it’s an imitation of their heroes in the theaters or the movies. Sometimes, sigh, I listen to talk radio, since they exist in modern times, or watch the boobie, to get a grasp of the collective consciousness.

“There is one peculiar obsession of your modern western civilization, which I found to be an odd fixation in the collective mind. They have such a predilection for this word that rhymes with truck. They seem to use the word for every kind of description of actions and objects, or a so-called hip way of communication. This is especially true in the working class, when they stand around on break, or when they go to some bar, or anytime men get together.

“Now, what is the reason why your people are so obsessed with this effin word?”

Jeb hunches his shoulders in an ‘idunno’ expression, and then offered this suggestion, “maybe it’s from reading too many Stephen King novels.”

“Could be,” said Sreejinn. He paused, as mirth twinkled in his blue eyes. “Another big reason is that people think movie stars are gods, and whatever they say or do is chic. The media and magazine constantly broadcast the glories of sex and the effin word, which indicates such a life style. The word reminds them of passion, and since they think that union with a lass is the ultimate goal of life, the word is very dear to them, yet ironically they cannot have more carnal acts than the pigeons, and the fact that such unions are short-lived, usually brief encounters, then perhaps they think that saying the effin word gives some kind of substitute for the large periods of time waiting between the acts of passion, as if thinking it makes it so, indeed, if they are allowed to have any such pleasure at all. Therefore they frequently say the blankety word to fill in the vacuum.

“The word has a dual meaning. It means to have pleasure in the act of love or lust or both. And secondly, it means to inflict damage or hurt to oneself or others, or more other shades of nefarious meanings, such as to fall into deep illusion, to be duped, to be greatly mistaken, and so on.

“So everyone wants that pleasure, fleeting as it is, the first meaning of the effin word, and they say the word often to remind them of the pleasure. But ironically, alas, it seems that at a subconscious level, they know the 2nd meaning of the word is being foisted upon them, moment after moment. Thus, constant repetition of the effin word is a subliminal reminder to the chanter, that he or she is getting the royal shaft from the great cosmic arrangement of punitive justice, or persons whom the chanter had shafted in a previous time, in a previous life, and are now meting out punishment.

“He knows he’s getting the mega-paddle day in and day out, and his chanting effin this, and effin that, simply confirms the fact, in his dilettantish psyche, the naked reality of his perpetual punishment at the hands of an unrelenting taskmaster, momento after momento.”

He Gave His Youth

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

As Rajan breathed in the fragrance of his garland of champaka flowers, he felt wonderful pleasure as he gazed at the nearby garden and courtyard. A small deer loitered about without care, while a pair of Coo-coo birds sweetly sang in a nearby ashoka tree. Brahmins chanted mantras, and a shenai player enhanced the atmosphere with ragas. The Himalayas jutted up into the sky, beautifying the northern skyline. They seemed very near.

The muni took his seat and played a tampura, he began to sing some devotional bhajans. He sang for some time with eyes closed and intense emotion, his head moving side to side. Drafts of sandalwood incense mingled about. He ended with the refrain of “Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama.”

The muni suddenly stopped singing and remained motionless, eyes closed, remaining still, as if in trance for a long time. The atmosphere turned quiet and grave. Everyone felt a pervading peace. A smile lit up his face as his eyes quickly opened, and he uttered “Jai Rama,” his eyes shining with intense spiritual emotions. He offered his welcome again to the guests.

“I know all about your adventures,” said the muni, “We have feathered spies everywhere. Also, the high priests of Jaipur sent messenger birds to inform me. I am glad that you made it this far. We did not anticipate the intrusion of demons so soon, but you will have no fear of demons in this circle of land. This ashram and forest area is protected by multi-dimensional mantra armor. It is impregnable by those in the gross modes of ignorance. So, how may I serve you?”

“Thank you kindly, your holiness, for your hospitality and assurance of the security of this ashram,” said Rajan. “Would you please tell us of this world, and describe the path most beneficial for those who are always feeling fear and lamentation.”

The muni replied, “This world is made of dualities, and the path to contentment is fraught with difficulties, and yet everyone is desirous of some happiness. I know that well myself, for I have tried for many life-times to get happiness. By the blessings of my Guru, I received the mystic vision to see my past lives. I was so many things; I was once a doctor, a millionaire, a king, a lawyer, poet, composer, and a philosopher.

I’ve had little spots of happiness in those lives and now I see that the happy times were short-lived in so many earthy lives, and the good years are always short. Although this knowledge is known to all men, still they pursue the illusion of temporary happiness.

I wish to tell a tale from the age-old texts which will shed light upon this. This story is a part of a long epic told by Lord Shiva to Parvati.” He then spoke the story which goes as follows:

Once a King, named Chandravaloka, hunted in a forest and he lost his way and came upon a large lake filled with blue lotus flowers. He spied a young girl upon the far bank beneath an Asoka tree. He approached the maiden to inquire of his way and beheld her comely shape and features so that he thought her to be born from the planets of the celestials. He found out that she was born of the Apsara Menaka from the hermit sage Kanva, who lived near by.

The King went to that sage who shown bright as the moon and sat surrounded by his star like followers. The King worshipped his feet, and in return, the sage requested that the King give up his cruel sport of hunting the poor deer.

The sage said, “Do not all the living creatures fear death, and so why do you slay them without reason? Have you not heard the story of Pandu? Who mistakenly shot a shaft into a sage who was disguised as a deer?”

The King agreed to this request, and the sage Kanva being pleased with him, granted him a boon. The King’s wish was to accept the sage’s daughter, Indivaraprabha’s hand in marriage. This boon was granted and the King set off with his new bride to return to his kingdom – and they were followed by the sage’s tear filled eyes.

Shortly, the sun being wearied with the toil of the day, seemed to set down to rest upon the mountain peak. The silvery moon rose up and ushered in the darkness of night and the host of twinkling stars, and they all seemed to whisper amorous songs of love that caused the fairy-like entities of the woods to dance and fly about the boughs and creepers. Just then, the King found an Asvattha tree on the bank of a lake whose waters were as pure as the mind of a transcendentalist. Beneath the tree was a secluded spot surrounded by dense boughs and leaves and carpeted with lush grass. They took rest upon a bed of flowers beneath the undulating moonbeams which sparkled about the bowers and creepers like jewel-lamps.

The next morning, the moon seemed to sink in fear of the angry rays of the sun which appeared like a curved sword eager to slay the lord of the night. Suddenly, a pitch black demon, a Brahman-rakshasa, appeared there like a thundercloud with yellow hair like lightening. He wore a garland of entrails and drank blood from a skull as he uttered a horrible cry through his projecting tusks.

He vomited fire and hurled a fiery rage at the King, saying, “Rascal, I am a Brahman-rakshasa by name of Jvalamukha, and this dwelling by the Asvattha tree is my abode, not to be trespassed upon by any of the Gods themselves. How presumptuous has thou come to enjoy it, and so ye shall reap the fruits of your offense. I will drink upon your blood here and now.”

The King heard the ghastly decree and his wife fainted away in fear, and he said humbly, “Pardon this sin, oh great one, for I am a mere mortal traversing through your land and am a guest seeking your protection.”

The demon relented and granted him pardon only on the condition that the King bring him a human sacrifice of a boy of seven years old and of such a noble character that he would volunteer himself for the King’s sake. Also, the boy’s father and mother must place him before the demon and hold his hands and feet while the King slays the boy with a sword, all on the seventh day. If this condition was not met, then the demon would lay waste upon the King’s court.

The King thus agreed to these conditions and went back home in great despondency, for he could see no possible way to find such a willing victim. Arriving at his court, he counseled with his ministers in a dejected state, but one of his wise ministers said to him-

“Do not be forlorn, for I will find such a boy, for verily within this world such wonders are to be found.”

That wise minister made a gold image of a seven year old boy and placed it on a chariot and carried it all about the kingdom in every town and village along with the following proclamation that whosoever would be a boy of seven and of noble mind to be made sacrifice and have a mother and father to hold his hands and feet will benefit his parents with this golden image along with a hundred villages.

And it so happened that such a Brahmin seven year old boy did appear, who was born from a previous life’s wish to only benefit his fellowman with any sacrifice that was asked of him. The boy approached the chariot and agreed to give himself and then ran off to tell his parents.

He submitted to his parents with folded hands the following plea, “For the good of the King and his people and to end your poverty I wish to offer up this temporal perishable body of mine by way of sacrifice to a flesh eating demon, if you agree.”

His parents could only respond with faces screwed up with horror as they said, “What kind of monsters do you take us for, as if any parent would agree to such an abomination! Is your brain fevered? Or has some evil planet stricken you?”

The boy answered with all sagacity, “I speak not out of illusion, but with intellect honed by the wisdom of the ancients versed in Vedanta. This body which is impermanent and full of disease and is destined to end at any time is only meant for the service and welfare of others. In this transient world of pain, the only permanent virtue is achieved by sacrificing one’s temporal body for the benefit of all beings, and what more devotion to my parents could I give then to end their poverty forever?”

So, gradually the boy convinced his weeping parents by many similar discourses and they finally agreed.

The King was delighted to find the boy with such noble character and he adorned the boy with costly jewels and garments and garlanded him with fragrant flowers and rubbed expensive oils and sandalwood paste on his body and placed him on a royal elephant and took him to the abode of the demon with his parents following.

Beneath the Asvattha tree, the King’s priest made oblations into a sacrificial fire and summoned the demon who appeared upon the scene with a loud laughter and ghastly appearance. His eyes blazed and his countenance cast darkness to all directions.

The King bowed before him and said, “I have kept my promise in delivering the boy upon the seventh day.” The demon licked his tusks as he gazed wickedly at the boy.

The boy then said, “The benediction rewarded to me for my deeds, I pray, is not salvation to the heavenly planets which benefits not others, I ask only to give up my body for others, birth after birth!”

At this behest, the celestials crowded the heavens in wonder at the boy and they rained flowers upon him.

The boy was placed before the Brahman-rakshasha and the mother and father held his hands and feet and the King raised his sword to strike and suddenly they were astounded so much by the loud laughter of the boy that all, including the demon, fell to their knees with folded palms and stared with wonder into the boy’s face.

“And this is the meaning of the child’s laughter,” said the muni, “please hear … when a weak person is in threat of his life, he calls upon his father and mother to save him, and if they are not present, then he appeals to the King, and at last, he propitiates his protective deity. But in the boy’s moment of danger, his parents held his feet and hands with greed of gain, and the King was ready to slay him to save himself, and the Brahman-rakshasha demon, who somehow was his protective deity, was ready to eat him!”

“The boy laughed hard and said to himself, “`See how great is the illusory potency of Maya, by her power such so-called parents and so-called Kings are so deluded for the sake of their temporal bodies that they will do anything, and they are filled with such strong desires to continue their existence in such a world where even Brahma, Indra and all demigods must perish themselves!'”

Thus the boy laughed out of joy and wonder at the insurmountable power of Maya.”

“And so,” said the muni, “it is difficult to capture that will-o-wisp called happiness. There is happiness experienced by those in the modes of goodness, but that happiness is always wedged in by other things that are full of unhappiness.

The poet or philosopher gets some intellectual bliss, but that is eclipsed by birth and death, and all the way through this mortal life is pain, enemies, and disappointments. But, they still like this short spot of brief happiness, because it is better than nothing at all.

It is only when they finally hear about the vast ocean of Amrita, the nectar of immortality, that they can finally see the brevity of earthly life for what it is. On the scale of eternal time, such happiness is but a brief moment, like flickering lightning in the night sky. Real happiness is like the blazing sun in the sky.”

“What would be that vast ocean of Amrita?” inquired Rajan.

The muni answered, “That vast ocean of Amrita is a gushing river of spiritual sound vibrations cascading down from the top of the universe, just like the celestial waters of the Ganges. This river of sound is innundating all the saintly sages and devotees in the form of Gita, Bhagavata and countless other transcendental sounds, Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama!”

Excerpt from “Gift of the Siddhas”

Another jnani yogi falling from the sky! Straight from the Brahmajyoti! [“Thus after some time they fall again to this material world”]

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!

From James Robinson Cooper : What’s more rational ? To look inside a human cell, see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude the cell has been designed Or to look inside a human cell see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude it all happened by chance, put together by the blind forces of nature?

After Chandra finished his ritual duties, he knows that it is time to teleport across the ocean, back to Sherlock’s domicile … and so his two feet arrives upon the cobble stones of Baker Street, within a wink of an eye, and he drifts through a small crack in the window sill, like a wisp of fog, and he duly appears before Sherlock in a slightly visible ethereal body … and then, sitting opposite Sherlock’s confounded facial expression, Chandra said, “Namaste Lord Sherlock,

“Take a look at this drop of water,” continued Chandra, as he takes an eyedropper from his coat and squeezes a drop onto the table’s top. “You asked me about man’s eternal soul, well, there are hundreds of thousands of microscopic organisms swimming around in this drop of water, and yes, they too have souls, just as the huge body of an elephant has a similar soul of the same size. Whether the body be huge or infinitesimal, the soul within floods the entire body with consciousness.”

Sherlock reaches for something in a drawer, and Chandra says, “Put away your magnifying glass, Sherlock, it will not allow you to see these souls, nor can you see the bodies of these tiny creatures swimming around in their vast world of liquidity. I have teleported into the far future, and I have looked at specimens through their powerful microscopes, and still the soul is invisible to our eyes, because the soul is one ten-thousandth the tip of a hair, and thus invisible to our eyes.”

“Sometimes the path can be a little bumpy in the beginning,” whispered Chandra into Sherlock’s ear.

“We can converse person to person, no need for whispers,” said Sherlock.

After a long pause, Chandra continued, “the path most often requires one to discard baggage that prevents the seeker from flying upward into the heavenly realms …”

“And this means that I must discard something … what?” implored Sherlock.

“Let me narrate a story which illustrates this situation of shedding things that hinder,” offered Chandra, and he told a story thus;

“Once upon a time, on the peripheral edge of the Bermuda Triangle, there rested an exotic bird paradise on a celestial island in the sea.

“Bermuda Triangle?” wondered Sherlock…

“Yes, this triangle was known by men to be a cursed area of the sea, off the coast of Bermuda, and was always a great mystery to man, as many boats and aeroplanes have disappeared after entering it’s domain. The truth is, this area is a conduit, it is like a wormhole, or a portal that teleports whoever enters, and transports them into other dimensions, other lands, other planets, into different eras, into different centuries.

What is on the “other side?”

“That island on the edge of this Bermuda wormhole, was populated by exotic birds who happily lived in peace for centuries, because it was protected by the curse of that triangle, and humans feared the reputation of “they who enters nare ever return.” Thus that abode of the exotic birds flourished, until one day a wooden ship appeared like a bad dream, with it’s black flag of skull-and-cross-bones flapping in the wind. The birds turned their colorful necks to observe this ship, full of black-bearded pirates, who then proceeded to do what man does best…”

And Chandra paused a few moments, as Sherlock’s eye-brows arched, as if to say, “what, pray tell, what is it, that man does best?”

“The very thing that man, the two legged animal, does best … is to kill every living creature that lay within his wicked eyesight…”

“Why does man delight in killing? This is because he is not in harmony with the creative golden spiral of the universe. He cannot create anything wondrous with his two clumsy hands … therefore he is envious of all that has beauty … envious of all that flows with the magical Fibonacci numbers, he is disharmonious with all that is seen in the golden ratio of the divine proportions of creation,

and all he can do, is to use his gift of free will, and wrongly choose to kill that which he fears, that which is beyond his comprehension. And thus he thinks his crude murder of life to be a sort of brutish creativity … like it is some kind of esoteric work of art … but it is only his fear and hatred of God’s immaculate creation.”

“And so,” continued Chandra, “the beautiful birds resided in caves etched within the side of a great mountain, and thus Blackbeard and his motley crew of pirates proceeded to fire their man’o-war cannon balls at the near mountain, which decimated the nests of unsuspecting birds, who raised a squalor of protest.”

The Condor’s only hope of survival from the pirate’s fiery assault was to fly up the sheer walls of the vertical face of the mountain, up to the lofty peaks without hesitation, … but alas, those condors who were attached to their nest and eggs, and tried to secure either nest or eggs held in their talons, they could not make the vertical ascent as quickly, being burdened down’, and they could not escape the cannon balls exploding all about the mountain face, and they fell down to death, while the Condors who flew without a second thought, leaving all behind, only they lived … so, the moral of the story, is that when the house is on fire, rhe survivor exits, to reach the goal, sometimes he must leave cherished attachments behind. That is what the moral of the story seems to be telling … but then again, things are not always what they seem.”

“There is nothing more deceptive than obvious facts,” said Sherlock, quoting one of his favorite axioms.

After assimilating all of this elaborate elucidation, Sherlock suggested, “Yes, it may seem that the birds that flew off were selfish, just trying to save themselves … and those who tried to save the nest, bore true nobility of heart, possessing a true moral compass.

“But, from another viewpoint, it may be said that in order for one to save himself from imminent danger, the situation may preclude the giving up of one’s attachments, to first save yourself, then go back and save others.”

To this, Chandra said, “Sometimes you can’t save others until you first save yourself … but that is not what really happened! The most common mistake people make, is to smugly think that our particular species of homo sapiens is more intelligent than animals who live in so-called primitive ages … and so it may come as a shock to our big brains, to discover that primitive animals possess the ability to proffer a challenge to one’s so-called modern intelligence.

“And so, keeping that in mind … this is what really happened:”

Some of the Condors pretended to be dead, laying there still, in the nests … while the other Condors flew upward into the clouds, until they became tiny specks in the sky before merging into the clouds. To which the Pirates laughed loudly, and hurled insults up into the skies, crying out;

The Pirates thought they were gone, until they heard a faint wailing noise, way up in the sky,

getting louder and louder … and before they could discern the reality of what was about to happen, a multitude of Condors suddenly materializing out of thin air, and they came swooping down with talons extended, claws eager to dig deep into the backs of the terrified Pirates, who ran here and there, some being picked up in the air with the Condor’s talons so sharp and strong, and firmly embedded into the bleeding backs of hapless pirates, and some were dropped into the ocean, as other terrified pirates ran all about, helter skelter, while the Condors ripped up their sails, tore down their masts, and overturned fires and kegs of oil, which set the ship ablaze.

As the wooden ship became a blazing inferno, more pirates came running out of the bowels of the ship, some jumping into the churning water and swimming ashore, where they lay exhausted on the beach for a long time. After gathering their wits, they looked around, and gazed up into the sky, and they thought that the Condors were gone, and they breathed deeply with great relief and gratitude … and then after a long while, a low and distant growl summoned their attention, and looking towards that alarming sound, they saw small specs on the distant shore, specs that grew larger and larger, until the true shapes began to manifest … and to their utter dismay, the pirates found themselves confronted with a pack of snarling and hungry wolves …

great grey wolves much larger than ever seen in Europe. Both pirates and wolves stood there staring at each other, the men frozen, afraid to run, and then the whole pack moved simultaneously, just a mere inch, which set off sheer panic throughout the bodies of the terrified pirates, and they all turned and ran for dear life.”

All Bubbles made up of illusory constitution, will certainly burst in due course of time

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Bugsy is a big-bully boxer, who thinks he is the lord of all he surveys in his little self-projected universe, floating in the junkyard of Toledo, Ohio. Speedy-go is a pint-sized miniature-pincher, who is bad-bone’s perennial sidekick. Bugsy carries himself proudly with a narcissistic glow of being the “bubba-bad-to-the-bone” bone-crusher in his frequent altercations with other dogs and cats, always emerging as “top dog” in his little universe, his junk yard bubble, nestled within that minuscule speck of dirt called Toledo.

Actually, Bugsy is a character I gleaned from a cartoon dog that I briefly witnessed on the idiot box, while doing our clothes in a Laundromat, and catching a few jokes here and there with my kids, [3 and 6 at the time.] The first scene was bad-to-the-bone and Speedy-go strutting down a sidewalk on the out-skirts of the junkyard, where Bugsy swaggered his pompous bluster, and Speedy pranced about Bugsy like the loyal sycophant that he was, groveling like a slave to Bug’s frequent and extravagant urges, Speedy swashing a lickspittle to bad-to-bone’s every whim, a flattering lionizer of Bug’s towering vainglory. Speed felt such honor to be dastardly-bone’s chief lackey, a green-hued toady to bug-a-boo’s never-sated fancies. If there ever was one, Speedy-go was his obsequious doormat, his undying bootlicker … Speedy-go worshipped every muscle flex of bad-to-the-bone’s brawny physique … kowtowing to his ever desire.

It so happened … that one momentous day came, there appeared upon the distant horizon of the darn bugger’s rotten luck … a harbinger of cruel fate, wherein the bad-to-once-bones had at last met his five-star match, he’d finally met his one-in-a-mill one-ups-man-dude, who came to re-arrange his world, [what to speak of rearranging his face!] … bad-bones had met his upscale superior, he stands overshadowed by a black-hearted pit-bull,

who proceeds to pound the used-to-be-bad into a pish-posh pulp. For some strange reason, [most likely a classical case of brain dementia] battered-bones thought it was speedy-go who bested him in feisty-cuffs, for he was blinded from the volley of punches flying upon his head, and when the horrendous battering subsided, and his eyes slowly opened, and painfully re-focused again, it was speedy there in his direct vision, flexing his muscles.

And so it seemed to cold-cocked-to-dust-bones, that speedy perpetrated this pummeling upon his be-dazzled head, and from then on, it was not-so-bad-bones who pandered to speed’s every whim. It is now the once glorious beaten-bones, who will bow and scrape to little speed’s capricious idiosyncrasies, at his every behest. Speedy sashayed the sidewalk like a king with retinue, and buggered-bugsy danced and pranced all about speedy like a true sycophant, his prior precious bubble had burst asunder, never to be seen again.

Who will be our next contestant in Goddess Durga’s bubble game? Who’s bubble will float the longest before the trident from Durga-Devi’s hand pierces it? Who is the next winner of the Devi-Dhama lottery game of “who is the real lord” of this wonderful world we survey, please stand up … and claim your prize, which is a certifiable reinforced bubble of a lasting longevity nature.

We hit the pause button here in our narrative, with this introspective thought — every embodied being somehow thinks that his bubble is of the “lasting longevity nature.” Every contestant in Durga-Devi’s game thinks he is entitled to a long lasting bubble, even though the analogy tells us that such bubbles are likened to bubbles in the froth of the sea, and are prone to be broken apart by the constant waves of time, and thus the nature of such a bubble is … gulp … brevity.

Om Tat Sat

Notes- The bursting of one’s bubble does not always mean death, more often it means the end of a temporary illusion created by maya, wherein the disillusioned jiva soul thinks himself to be very important and controller of his little world.

The following verse is taken from Srimad Bhagavatam, 5th Canto, the discussion between Jada Bharata and Maharaja Rahugana, wherein the great brahmana Jada Bharata explains that a king in the next life can be the servant, and the servant will be the king, and these are temporary circumstances [bubbles] by the will of providence.

“My dear King, you have unnecessarily accused me of being dead though alive. In this regard, I can only say that this is the case everywhere because everything material has its beginning and end. As far as your thinking that you are the king and master and are thus trying to order me, this is also incorrect because these positions are temporary. Today you are a king and I am your servant, but tomorrow the position may be changed, and you may be my servant and I your master. These are temporary circumstances created by providence.” >>> Ref. VedaBase => SB 5.10.11

Item of interest – the first image of bubbles, save it and look at it, at first it appears to be only bubbles, but magnify or zoom in, and look at large bubbles, there are worlds of stories in every bubble, quite the graphics!

Brahma lives one hundred of such “years” and then dies. These “hundred years” by earth calculations total to 311 trillion and 40 billion earth years. By these calculations the life of Brahma seems fantastic and interminable, but from the viewpoint of eternity it is as brief as a lightning flash. In the Causal Ocean there are innumerable Brahmas rising and disappearing like bubbles in the Atlantic. >>> Ref. VedaBase => Bg 8.17

It’s the fuehrer-ocious inferno dude, who’s kleaning kampf-karma, with a scoundrel scheme to avoid unfortunate metamorphose, they take a wanderlust walkabout, in the land of light-bearing crystal gifts and velvet poems, and halo-wreathed monks meditating in the midst of oceanic waves of cacophonous howling, and indigo clouds blooming above, and you can be in my dream, if I can be in yours … because the Tambourine man told me so.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

“Its dreamland in the old homestead once again folks,” thus whispered the corny voice in Jeb’s head. He found himself in continuance of the last episode, as if only a few minutes had past. He and Jehrom and Sreejinn were there, same place, same conversation … and Aristo is floating around them like a starship in orbit. Aristotle, the space dog, is silently flying in circles, doing recognizance of the perimeters, making sure no undesirable spirits are lurking about on the fringe. Sreejinn then told his story to a mystified Jeb and Jehrom;

“This all happened,” said Sreejinn, “not so long ago, and then again, it was a long, long time ago, the story of the long life of myself, or they knew me back then as … Asvatta. It sounds like a fairy-tale story, well … that’s sort of what it is.

“The place was known as Bharta Varsa in ancient times, now it’s known as India. The time period was not that long ago, say around the mid 1940’s or so…

“Of course, my friend Jeb, you are wondering how that is possible, seeing how that would make me an old geezer. That’s part of the story, the ongoing saga of Asvatta, the ancient wanderer … let me begin.

“He awakened that morning and dressed, did his morning duties, and started walking. Asvatta, the wanderer of endless time and space … began another dawn of destiny.

“He followed the voice within, just as he always did countless times in the past. This time the voice told him to walk to the north, to go to Kashmir, and trek into the mountains. He traveled along the bank of the Ganges, passing hermitages and sages on mats of kusa grass, some with white holy markings on their foreheads, and some with shaved heads, and some with long matted hair, some with eyes closed in deep meditation, and some murmuring on prayer beads. All sages appeared to be in a trance, oblivious to the outside world.

“He finally reached the town of Hardwar and entered the perimeters, following a crowd of pilgrims. Seeing a commotion ahead, he wormed through the crowd, to see what was going on. There he pushed to the front of the crowd, and saw a band of foreigners upon the path. They were strangely attired with European coats and the swastika symbol on sleeve, curiously pointing in a clock-wise direction. Asvatta had seen this sign many times at Vedic sacrifices, in the proper counter clock direction. This, he thought, is what caused all the commotion. Asvatta suddenly felt a pang of distress run through his body, which seemed to be invisible barbs of energy coming from the enigmatic figure of the leader.

“Asvatta approached the group and inquired as to why they donned this symbol. He stood patiently as a soldier conveyed his question to the leader, who then turned around to examine him. His eyes penetrated the wanderer for a good amount of time and then the leader said something into the ear of the servant. His servant then walked up to Asvatta, relaying a message from his master, that he would be pleased to have his company for dinner, shortly. Asvatta gave his acceptance, as he glanced back to the master, who was still surveying him with an incisive gaze.

“Asvatta entered the master’s tent and sat cross-legged before his desk.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Asvatta with polished English. “Asvatta is my name.”

“Yes, pardon, Adolf’s my name, world conquest’s my game,” he said with a jab at humor. It seemed that Asvatta possessed a chameleon charm to swing an ashen gravity mood to a copasetic hue of mirth.

“The master continued, “As they say in the western world, I’m head-honcho of the superman tribe … and some people are trying to make me the head-less honcho, heh heh.”

“Ah,” said Asvatta, “A refreshing spot of humor there, after what you’ve been through.…”

“Being serious all the time can get you killed, you know.” the master said.

“In more ways than we can know.”

“I’m just a regular guy like everybody else. I got problems like other people do.”

“I can imagine that’s so … well.”

“Then the master turned a shade more serious and said, “A stranger I am … in your land, searching for a guide, seeking astral advise from planets and signs…”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

“I am in need of knowing … things of the future,” he continued, “I’ve tried other methods of divination, the ancient Teutonic practice of pouring lead for prediction, mandalas, astrologers, seers….”

“Inquiry? … into the ways of providence?”

“Yes. Barely escaping coup de’tat, I slipped away to India, looking for astrologers … those who see into the future.”

“Fortunate you are,” said Asvatta. “To arrive at the right place and exactly at the right time. India is more than snake charmers, some adepts hold the science of the stars within the palm of their hands … the art of divination. Thank your lucky stars, one such astrologer sits before you.”

“The master’s eyes sparkled with this information, and said, “I barely escaped with a thread of life. Assassins seemed to shoot up out of the dark. What lies ahead?”

“Let us survey your palm, and we’ll see how the future waxes in the stars.”

“The stone cold eyes of the master widened in anticipation, as he gazed evenly upon his company, and said, “I slipped into your country incognito, with a few friends and guards. Things have turned for the worst. I need guidance from the seers. Enemies pummel at my door.”

After a brief hesitation, the master scrutinized his visitor and said in a low tone, “Besides the astral consultation, I am also in search of something valuable, a spear reputed to be of divine powers.”

“Asvatta’s arching eyebrows seemed to say, “What spear is this?” and then he said, “I thought you already had one.”

“But there’s another, it’s said to be infused with the power of a demigod, and two are better than one. Anyway, we’ll talk of that later.” After a pause, the master said with raised eyebrows, “You seem to know a lot about me…”

“We have our ways. Some adepts of India do very well seeing into the future … we have no need for crystal balls.”

“Asvatta took a few minutes to do his calculations. It was obvious that he was a master at his craft by the speed of his mathematical prowess. “So, we see, by your sudden fate line change, and by examination of jhotir, I … I am fain to say, I am the harbinger of foul news, Herr Fuehrer.”

“His eyes turned plaintive, seeming to say, “Out with it….”

“There is no doubt of it, this life, alas, the curtain may be dropping, the final act commences, the fat lady singeth, the last of the Mohicans drops the hatchet, just as the sun sets exactly on time,

setting also in the East this time, everything ends on it’s own schedule, all good things come to an end, as will the war and…..”

“Adolf’s eyes flashed with a penetration that could wilt the snows of Mount Everest. The thought of being hurled from the tent by the mere heat in those eyes, crossed Asvatta’s mind.

“What means thou by Mohican hatchet? The sun sets when?”

“Never mind, sorry about that, please Herr Fuehrer, kindly contain the heat in thine eyes, burn me not … it is no one’s fault, this happens to every man, in due course of time….”

“You’re right,” said the man, “it happens to every man, you are right, sorry, it’s just that so many plans are unfulfilled,” and then he turned down the burning gaze … which flickered and went cold.

“Then Asvatta said, “Every man says that at the end, how his plans are undone.” Somehow Asvatta regained the master’s confidence, and cast his chart again, and encouraged him, saying “Do not protest too much, Herr Fuehrer, plans may be foiled in the here and now, but they might be rekindled and they just may well turn out again … on the other side.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is … nobody ever really dies … when death occurs, one is sure to be reborn, and adjustments can be made, with help from those on the other side.”

“I have heard of the soul, from your ancient texts, some I have read. And there are helpers from the other side, you say, but how is that going to help me and my plans?”

“I see from your chart, your next birth may have its consequences, but your consciousness will remain intact. And with one’s original mind intact, one may still promote one’s designs.”

“How so?”

“You may again take it up … where you left off.”

“How is it possible?”

“Have you heard of yogis?, and how they have this power … called mystic power?”

“Yes, I’ve heard many tales of this, in your land,” said the Fuehrer, “they live for hundreds of years. They can become smaller than an insect or as large as whales, or change their shape to any form, or travel to the sun or moon in an instant. I have heard.”

“It is all true, I assure you. Here’s the deal. I only ask for a little faith, that’s all.”

“Well, ok, I guess I don’t have many options, do I?”

“You shall procure someone … who can follow you into the other side….”

“To the other side?”

“Yes, this is possible. A yogi can follow…”

“Herr Hitler said, “So what is to happen, am I to convince some such yogi to … uh, follow me, or meet me there, or what?”

“I will consult you on how. One such yogi could possibly save you from unfortunate metamorphose.”

“How can that be? Can karma be changed?”

“He may well do that. Just as one such yogi is adept at shape-change, he could help you in a similar fashion. He could clean up your karma. You might begin your campaign again.”

“Herr Hitler’s face perked up a little.

“You are in luck, you can go to Kumbha Mela and search out such a yogi, I will direct you.”

“His eyes gave answer enough. Agitation gone, they again shone with a misty vision … eyes that shine in the truth of astrology and the mystic sciences, eyes that behold the horizon, with which to burn enemies, and see death and rebirth, which foresees victory in the hereafter.”

I noticed a man sitting beneath the tree. I recognized him to be the esteemed nobleman, Sir Isaac Newton. It was then that I accidentally dislodged an apple from it’s branch and it dropped on his head. I heard him exclaim, “Ouch, damn it all!”

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

“Sreejinn, what about you interacting with big historical figures, and maybe doing things that might have changed history? Like being Hitler’s gardener and cook? Could you have changed history through some kind of intervention? Could that have been the right thing to do? You may have had an opportunity to change events that would have turned history upside down?

“Well Jeb, yes, I intervened in one instance, for the sake of friends. The past, present, and future’s like an open book to me, I saw what was coming, what needed to be done. Yes, maybe I could have done something more drastic, could have changed history, but that’s like on your TV show, Star Trek, Kirk had to follow the prime directive, and not to mess with the natural events of the alien world, or the change could be worse than the original events. It’s very tacky, very dangerous to mess with time-lines. I did that a few times, but got very bad dreams about it. So I stopped thinking that way. Like the time I tripped Charlemagne and he dropped the spear of destiny. And so he lost the war, and I had to do a quick identity change to escape punishment, I quickly morphed into a filthy beggar on the street — that one always worked. I had nightmares for weeks after that little episode.

Another time, I was running from an angry mob, because I was caught up in a Royal scandal with the wife of a Duke, which wasn’t my doing. Again, I was innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, I ran up this gangplank and hid in some empty cargo box, on this ship. It turned out to be the Santa Maria, and we all set off to sea, our captain was Christopher Columbus. The Nina and Pinta followed right behind. I became a regular deck hand, and fortunately they never detected that I was a stowaway. Good thing too, or they would have thrown me overboard. Of course I couldn’t die, I would have had to swim for days, or weeks, to get back to land or some island. I would not have enjoyed that very much, you know, fighting off sharks and electric eels and stingrays and so on, there’s no way I could die, it wasn’t possible. So, we sailed into the western horizon for weeks, and food and water were starting to get scarce, and the men were grumbling, and were on the verge of mutiny. Columbus was confronted with a mutinous party of desperate crew men, and he was just about to turn back, when I told him to keep going. I assured him that we were almost there, land was just a short hop and skip away, and so I stopped the mutiny. How did I know? I knew, because I sailed to the Americas before, with the Vikings. I could navigate by the stars, and calculated that we were very near to land. Within a few minutes, we heard a loud “land ahoy!!” from the crow’s nest above, and we made land in small boats, and Columbus fell to the ground and kissed the soil with tears streaming from his eyes. We made friends with the Indians, and Pocahontas took a liking to me, and Columbus got jealous — it got a little nasty. My youthful and handsome looks were always getting me in trouble with love triangles, and jealous noblemen, no matter how much I tried to avoid it. I had to run off and live incognito with the Indians for a while.

There was another time; I was running from a jealous Lord, once again a noble’s wife got inebriated at some party and flirted with me, and so I had to run from the Lord and his men. And so I swiftly climbed a large tree to hide, and they ran by, shouting and cursing. After many hours in the camouflage of the tree leaves, I noticed a man sitting beneath the tree. I recognized him to be the esteemed nobleman, Sir Isaac Newton. It was then that I accidentally dislodged an apple from it’s branch and it dropped on his head. I heard him exclaim, “Ouch, damn it all!”

Then I said in a low tone that he could barely hear, “Why does the apple fall in a straight line to the ground? Why does it not go sideways or upwards, but to the Earth’s centre? Because the Earth draws it. Yeah, that’s why. There is a drawing power in matter. And matter draws matter in proportion of its quantity. The apple draws the Earth, and the Earth draws the apple. Oh yeah, that is what’s called a law of nature.” He must have thought this was his intuitive mind formulating this brilliant concept. He then ran off to his study to write down this flash of genius. The rest is history.

“Katz of Hinterland” is mostly about how Hitler commissioned a yogi to follow him into the “other side” of his next life, and such yogi has the power to reinstate Hitler into his former human body, mustache and all, so that he can start his nazi mission once again. Well, big surprise … 🙂

“Katz of Hinterland” is mostly about how Hitler commissioned a yogi to follow him into the “other side” of his next life, and such yogi has the power to reinstate Hitler into his former human body, mustache and all, so that he can start his nazi mission once again. Well, big surprise … 🙂 for better view than email, click here – http://wp.me/p4m90U-io

God is an equal karma opportunity employer

“So who is the real primal cause of WW2?, it’s the investors who made money off the war, and Hitler and his cronies were just pawns, and so why is history silent on the daddy warbucks? Because they controlled the newspapers, the media of lies and propaganda and cover-ups. But, karma got them in the end, and the toll was much higher … as God is an equal karma opportunity employer. He is the biggest kid on the block, and nobody gets away with anything, there is no hiding or subterfuge or cover-up in the afterlife, the ways of karma knows all.”

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Jeb and the fellowship sat around dreamland campfire, as moonshine shimmered across silver flatlands of the dreamscape-sea. Gulls flew in symmetrical synchronicity around the fire. Aristo surfed the thick ocean air like a flying caricature pig on a pink-floyd album cover. And then Hans suddenly popped through the psycho-relic wall to join the fireside party, and he began to relate his preternatural news…

Hans story-told, “This foreboding spirit, I call him “the blackman,” well, he’s been trampling all over my dreams. It’s a perpetual horrid nightmare, he’s so dark, full of evil and rage, demanding some payback from me. I’m always terrified at his sight. And then something really weird happened one night dream, he appeared in a grayish robe, the darkness replaced by a glimmer of light, a benefic glow in his eyes and demeanor. The rage was all gone, he appeared tranquil and equipoised, not like his old self at all. A grayish cloth wrapped round his torso and around his neck hung a necklace with a peace symbol pendant dangling thereon, and he was gibbering about the songs of whales, and sputtering green-peace catch-phrases like ‘save the whales,’ … trite things like that.”

“So I asked him, why the sudden ethical overhaul? He said that he’d been talking to other spirits who were enlightened and they were telling him some very heavy things, and he was remembering his past lives, and he had seen the extent of his punishment in clearer light now, that it’s possible for entities to attain redemption …. to change their destructive path, for it’s never too late.

“He told me his sordid ghost history of all these odious things that befell him. He told how his astral body sometimes hovered over some trees and detested a colony of wild cats, especially this black cat residing out in the woods. And sometimes his astral body would wander around the spirit world, in this shape of this black person … and sometimes he remembered his past lives.

Then I asked, “well, who were you before all this kitty-poop hit the proverbial fan?” He said, with reluctance, that he remembered his uniform and arm insignia, it seems he was a military officer in his former life. After swallowing several lumps in my throat, it occurred to me …I got an inkling that perhaps this was my master coming back into flesh, though I didn’t want to believe it. I told myself it was only a dream, don’t let a dream get you down. I was thinking that he didn’t want to believe it either, and he was grabbling with the reality for a long time, or else he wasn’t inclined to tell me the truth all at once. Well, he finally came clean with me and told me he was pretty much the Fuehrer reincarnate, in some weird flesh casing, and also this ghostly apparition … but he told me not to worry, even though it was a bitter pill to swallow. It didn’t seem to me like the grandest re-entry of my master, back from the dead, but I came to grips with it in a while, thinking maybe still everything would continue as planned. Then he told me about the hell part….”

“Hans took a moment’s pause, as his audience sat with ear antennas tuned in, and Hans continued…

“It seems that blackman had to pay for the bad things he did, before getting anything good, if there was any good. They explained it like that. He had to pay, just like everybody has to pay. The afterlife spirits told him, that’s how things work. They said that every departed soul must reap karma for the number of other souls vanquished in his earthly life, he must pay for the lives taken before their time, if he was in any way responsible for their early demise, including animals and other living things, not just humans, he must pay … and often it involves a stint in hell, temporary hellish punishments. Then he described all the sordid details of how he went to hell …the road he traversed to the destiny of hell, and how long it went on.”

“I was under the impression,” said Jeb, “that hell wasn’t a temporary arrangement, or at least this is the common belief.”

“Oh, I know, but it gets real complicated,” said Hans, “they told him that hell wasn’t eternal, but in another way it’s eternal, or it that it seems eternal. I know it sounds nuts, and I trying to get a handle on it too…”

“So, the blackman recounted all the revolting details to my ears,” continued Hans, “as he said that he was in a great darkness, there was a pitch blackness in all directions, like he was floating in outer space with no stars or moon. And then a road appeared before him that faded off into infinity. There appeared some ghastly characters with bright red hair that sprouted out of their heads like these spiked-hair geeks you see in the city. Their facial features were contorted into grisly masks of horror, worse than those Freddy Kruggar movies.

“The miscreants grabbed him from all sides as they emitted loud shrieks, and he fought them in vain as they yanked and dragged him down the road at a unrelenting pace, as ferocious hounds of hell appeared from the shadows, barking through wicked canines. They tore at his flesh with maws of steel, again and again …and he stumbled and fell again and again, crying out pitiably, losing consciousness from the pain, then jolting out of comatose to a searing pain again. There upon the snarling hounds of hell tore him apart, again and again, a perpetual horror upon horrors, and he could not die though he desired to.

“The torturous road stretched out into space, shrouded in darkness, as raging bon fires consumed the path on all sides, making flesh bake. The conflagration roared on all sides of the road, baking the hot sand and burning feet, and he stumbled and fell again and again from the extreme heat, losing consciousness, just to re-awaken to fresh torture from the ripping teeth of the hell hounds. The copper-haired freaks dragged him down this burning road of perdition, as the road stretched out forever … into a darkness of oblivion…

“It seemed like hell went on for forever, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. Things are not what they seem in the afterworld. Time is a tricky concept there. A few moments might seem like years. And besides, the torture part of hell is a bit redundant, and the true lessons of karma are more effectively learned in the future lives to come, where every tooth for tooth is well reckoned, where the soul lives out the injustices that he impinged upon others. So, after a while, the torture ebbed away, and the blackman’s ravaged subtle body was dragged the nape of his ghostly neck to a regal looking person sitting on a high throne, who lectured him about his karma and suffering and gave advise of how to change it.”

Then, the blackman passed into a spirit limbo world were disembodied spirits loitered about, in all kinds of shapes. They are everywhere in the regular world, but people can’t see them. Blackman avoided them at first, but he seemed to have all the time in the world, and after an in terminal period of boredom, he accosted some spirits, and they shared their past.

Some spirits were evolved in wisdom and they told him the truth of hell and karma. It seems that hell is not eternal as men seem to think, and in a way it seems eternal. All souls are like diamonds embedded within a hard covering of coal, for a very long time. But after a certain span of time the coal covering may be chipped away and broken off, by flickers of spirit illuminations, and the brilliant diamond of the soul comes out. Blackman saw that perhaps he would get another chance, for the soul pays for past karma for a certain time in extreme hell, and then comes back to the world of flesh, or the limbo spirit side, and then he goes up or down on the suffering scale, depending on his actions of doing good or bad. He finally saw the suffering in the ether world and the physical world; he had a change of heart. The spirits convinced him to change his karma and do well for others, because it’s never too late to change and make right to one’s past and change the future. This is what he was telling me.”

Jeb said, “I don’t think the world is going to change it’s opinion about him, no matter how much he changes. He is a condemned person.”

“True, and his subtle body and mind will carry his karma to his next life,” said Sreejinn, “and he could be the same kind of person, if he maintains that mentality. But, if this is true what Hans is saying, if hell and the spirits could change him, then he can have redemption, just like all other souls in the material world. No one soul is condemned for some eternal punishment, all souls can be redeemed eventually. Otherwise, what is the point? If everyone is cemented by fate, if nobody can change, then what is the meaning of free will or being human? Perhaps the severe hell jail time is over for him, but the karma and suffering comes in other ways, going on life after life. So it’s like a perpetual hell in a way. It goes on for him, like it does for everyone else, until he decides to change his ways.

“However, it is normal for souls in ethereal bodies, or in the womb, to have profound spiritual realizations, and then to forget what they learned as soon as they are cast out of the womb and enter the world. They mostly forget all they learned and revert back to their former karmic consciousness.”

“Besides that,” said Jehrom, “this claim that he is the most evil person in history? Well, history is relative to geography, there were other persons who are more despised in other parts of the world, who’s wreaked more death than Hitler, like Stalin, who silenced 50 million, and Mao Tse-tung who caped a 100 mill, and so many holocausts which soaked the earth with blood. And there are those in the background, the financial backers of Hitler, the ones who financed the war, they are also culpable for crimes to humanity. If not for them, it couldn’t have happened. There were many revolutionary types in history, who did nothing because they didn’t have capital for war machines. Hitler couldn’t have done squat without the big bankrollers, like all those tanks and guns and ammunition don’t appear out of thin air, so who is the real primal cause of WW2?, it’s the investors who made money off the war, and Hitler and his cronies were just pawns, and so why is history silent on the daddy warbucks? Because they controlled the newspapers, the media of lies and propaganda and cover-ups. But, karma got them in the end, and the toll was much higher … as God is an equal karma opportunity employer. He is the biggest kid on the block, and nobody gets away with anything, there is no hiding or subterfuge or cover-up in the afterlife, the ways of karma knows all.”

“Katz of Hinterland” is mostly about how Hitler commissioned a yogi to follow him into the “other side” of his next life, and such yogi has the power to reinstate Hitler into his former human body, mustache and all, so that he can start his nazi mission once again. Well, big surprise … 🙂